Left Behind
by chalewhale
Summary: One shot - takes place after Pandora Hearts ends - Break is left alone to deal with the situations and deaths that have occurred.


"Break!" A voice, and a none to friendly one at that, shouted to him from another room. There was only one person this voice could belong to, and only one real reason why she would be calling him with that kind of tone. At the sound of it, he shuddered, rapidly stuffing whatever was left of the cake into his mouth, and turning around to face the entrance Sharon would be walking through. Let's hope the damage isn't too bad this time.

Break faked a smile, one that was intentionally charming. Not that it would work. "Yes, Milady? Was there something you needed?"

"Don't act all innocent with me!" She was getting closer now, any minute she would be storming through that door. Her harisen would be tight in her hands, a looming sort of aura around her as she looked on him with contempt; he could see it now. Needless to say, it was terrifying.

"I'm doing nothing of the sort~!" Faking ignorance, however ineffective, was something he was skilled at. Well, not so skilled at, perhaps, considering how it never seemed to work. It was all the same, really.

Here she was, exactly like he imagined, marching right up to him with her hands on her hips. Sharon was mad. Whatever for? Oh, she'd have a reason. She _always _had a reason to be frustrated with him. No matter, keep up the ignorant act. Wonderful.

"Break." See, there came a point in Sharon's fumings when she stopped being downright angry, and changed to this calm sort of madness. This was far more terrifying. The smoky aura about her, the suppressed anger, the looming threat of his impending death at the hands of her harisen; everything. A stronger man wouldn't be able to handle such a thing. Sharon was truly a frightening mistress.

"Yess~?" Flash another charming smile. Appear an innocent as you can, maybe it'll work this time. Doubtful, but he had survived this long, no?

Sharon glanced down at the empty plate in front of him. A somewhat puzzled expression crossed her features for a moment, but that soon softened into more of a bewilderment than anything else. She took a seat beside him with a sigh. "Can't you ever behave?"

At least her fury seemed to die down. At least for the moment. "Just what did I do this time?" See? Perfect tactic. He nailed it.

"You know exactly what you did." Pouring herself a cup of tea, Sharon's gaze refused to meet his. Obviously because she knew he was in the right in this situation; he had done nothing wrong. That's why her anger hadn't lasted long. "Seriously, Break, you can't go around treating guests like that, no matter how obnoxio-"

The room changed.

Instead of being seated on nicely decorated chairs with a table of sweets in front of them, they were outside. He was lying on his back, eye closed, but from the sounds, it was obvious he was outside. Late afternoon, spring time. Out in the grassy field in the garden.

He had said 'they' because Sharon was still with him. This was obvious because her hand was in his, or rather, he was holding her hand, but that was technically the same thing. Actually, the more he focused on it, he came to realize that she was snuggled up beside him, head nuzzled into his neck. Probably lying on her side, possibly sleeping, curled up next to him. In a word, strange.

"You shouldn't fall asleep this late in the day, you won't be able to get to sleep at a decent hour tonight." His voice, or presumably his voice, sounded rough. Perhaps he too had just woken up?

Sharon's body stirred. "I'm not falling asleep, it's just comfortable out here."

"That's true." Silence, but only the most comfortable sort. Something told him there had been a lot of that this afternoon. Just how long had he been out here with her?

After a moment Sharon's presence wasn't directly beside him anymore, and he guessed she had propped herself up on one of her elbows. The one that wasn't connected to the hand he was still holding. "I like being out here with you."

To that, he didn't respond, so she continued. "It feels warm being with you. Safe." Her words were followed by a lingering kiss to his forehead, something that felt more like a blessing or some sort of sacred act than anything. He still didn't respond.

Smiling, he turned his head to look at her, expecting to see the grinning face of a young girl. She would be glowing in the sunlight like an angel, probably was one, or at least to him she was. Always had been, really.

But Sharon wasn't there when he opened his eye. In more of a panic than he should have been in, he sat up. She should be there, right beside him where she belonged. She couldn't have disappeared that quickly, could she? No, that was impossible, even for someone like him! Unless she used Equus, but he would have noticed.

Frantically, and almost fearfully, he spun around where he sat. There, behind him. There was Sharon. But she did not smile or glow like an angel, she frowned at him. Yes, frowned, because her rotting mouth on her rotting face had been carved into a bleeding frown. She was dead.

More than dead, Sharon had been mutilated. Her body was crumpled beside him, limbs twisted in impossible circles and shapes so that her bones tore through her skin. Her hair had been ripped out and laid beside her in clumps, her dress torn open to reveal bruised and bloodied skin, almost so pale you could see the organs within her. Her throat had been slit, her head hanging from it as if it could fall off at any moment. She was blue, she was twisted, there were movements within her flesh that could only be insects, and Break continued to stare, petrified. Because really, what else was there to do?

She noticed this, and with her carved on frown, smiled. "You did this." Her words began as a whisper, but as she repeated that phrase over and over, they slowly grew in volume, becoming so loud he believed his ears would explode in a flurry of blood. "You did this. You did this. You did this."

The chanting continued. Louder and louder it became, crescendoing to impossible degrees as blood began to pool from her rotting body. Like the words she screamed, it grew. Expanded until it covered her, covered everything in a bloody mess. It was like a flood, and artist who dumped red paint all over their portrait; sticky and sweet and grotesque. It got in everything, ran against gravity and trickled up him. Found its way into his mouth, down his throat, drowned him as it reached his lungs. Suffocated him as it blocked his nose, made him deaf as it flooded into his ears. In him, through him, everywhere, until all that was left was red. Blood red and the screams of the corpse, of Sharon. "You did this."

He awoke.

The room – his room – was well lit. It was early afternoon at the latest. There were still birds chirping outside, his curtains were closed. A vase with yellow flowers in it sat next to his bed, the bed he was now sitting in, and there wasn't an item out of place. Unusual because this was _his_ room.

A cold sweat clung to his skin, and suddenly the pyjamas he was wearing made him feel far too claustrophobic. Nevertheless, he didn't bother to remove them. Took a moment to catch his breath, run a hand over his face as if making sure it was still there. He felt sick. Repulsed that he would have such a disgusting dream, but not in the least bit surprised.

How long he sat there like that, he wasn't sure. Could have been minutes, or hours; wouldn't have surprised him if another few days had passed, though that was less likely. However long it was, it would never be long enough and would always be too long. Too long to sit there in nothingness, not a long enough time to compose himself; either way was unsatisfying.

There was a knock on the door. Break didn't bother answering. Didn't have to, Reim walked in without waiting. He looked surprised at first, but the expression settled into something like a crooked smile. His face was raw.

So was his voice, apparently. "You're awake." Silence drifted between them. He didn't have the motivation to reply, so Reim went on, clearing his throat before speaking in hushed tones. Sounded like he hadn't spoken for months. "Seven days."

Ah, a week, was it? A week since he'd come stumbling into the manor, half dead. A week since he had to be carried to his room before losing consciousness. That was quite a long time, yet no time at all, really. A long time since eating something, but a very short time since everything else. Too short of a time, not enough time, there was no balance and it was almost maddening. He let the thought slip from his mind.

Without the will to form words, Break looked away from his friend, choosing instead to stare out one of the windows. If only he could stare out of it, the curtains were in the way, but he could pretend. He wasn't looking at anything anyway.

A thick sort of heaviness hung over the room, unspoken words and broken promises painting the air a poisonous black. It draped over them like a whisper, like the smoke above a candle it consumed them. There was nothing more to say. Nothing more that could be said, it didn't need to be. You could communicate so much without saying a word and they both knew it. It was sickening.

He spoke without turning around, voice hoarse and strained. "Where is she?"

"Out in the garden." Break felt Reim's hand on his shoulder but didn't flinch. "Xerx, you should rest."

"I can't do that. At least not until I've seen her." Pulling away from the warm comfort the physical touch from his friend had to offer, he stood, turning around to give Reim a twisted sort of smile. "It's fine."

Communicate without using words that it really was fine. Let him know that he should only be worried about himself. Reim understood, whether he accepted it or not, he understood. Without another word, he backed away. Not by very much, but enough to give Break a bit of space. He still couldn't breathe.

In silence he pulled a pair of pants over his pyjamas. Stuffed them in real good so they didn't bunch up under these new pants. At this point however, he hardly cared about comfort, so he didn't try as hard as he made it sound. After that was done, he tossed a coat over himself and bothered with only half the buttons while Reim watched. His clothes were put on without any effort, most likely inside out or backwards or something, but he didn't care. Didn't even bother with shoes before giving his friend one last smile and making his way outside.

More silence.

No one he passed looked at him. The manor wasn't all that lively, there was hardly anyone walking about, but even those that were there paid him no mind. Considering he had been unconscious for a week, that might be taken as something unusual, but with the current events, he wasn't so surprised. If at all.

Took only minutes for him to be out in the gardens, even though that really wasn't what he was looking for. So he walked around the manor, towards the back. The secluded corner where even on the brightest days the sun never managed to reach. Of course, that wasn't true at all, that corner of the Rainsworth property was as bright as any other, but that's the way he saw it. Cold and dark and uninviting.

He knelt down, fingers dusting over the freshly dug up ground before skimming lightly over the stone cross standing like a guardian over the plot. It was rude of him to sit crouched here, on top of the grave like he was, but he just didn't care at the moment. Anything to make him feel closer to her, but that thought was unbearable, so he shoved it aside.

Once more, his fingers brushed over the words on the cross, tracing over each of the letters with a level of reverence and respect he didn't know he was capable of. 'Here lies Sharon Rainsworth,' it read, followed by the date and her title as heir of the Rainsworth dukedom. He couldn't care less about that part, it was the name that got him. Sharon, his _Sharon_.

He could feel his eye misting with tears, but he blinked them away.

There were flowers all around him. Beautiful pink and purple petals decorated everything. They seemed cold. The same could be said about the sun shining down on him, or the birds singing in the trees. Cold and distant and pretend. Sickening.

The Rainsworths had wasted no time in preparing this for her. It wouldn't due to prolong the funeral for a noble, so they probably already had it. Not like that mattered, he wouldn't have attended anyway. He was never good at those things, but part of him felt guilty about it. No one would blame him but himself, he had been unconscious and half dead this past while, but that mattered little to him. Just another way he had failed her, he supposed.

Sniffling back more tears, he bit his teeth into his lip as he looked away. Deep enough to draw blood, the salty taste lingered in his mouth. Look anywhere but here because it was too painful. Overwhelming and horrifying, he wanted to do nothing but die. To feel pain and be hung up and whipped and tortured, anything to take away from this… this agony. Though in his heart he knew nothing would help.

Sharon was dead. His Sharon. She wouldn't smile or laugh or tell him how much of an idiot he was. Wouldn't beat him with that harisen of hers or make him feel like he was actually something of-

How pathetic. Here he was sitting on top of her grave, and he could think of nothing but his own selfishness. But it couldn't be helped, could it? Oh, how he wanted to dig her up. To claw at the ground until his fingers were nothing but bleeding stubs just to see that beautiful face of hers again. To play with her hair or kiss her forehead, to tuck her in to bed at night. To have her smile at something stupid he said or choke when he made her laugh while she was in the middle of drinking tea. So he could have just one more day with her, even an hour would do. He wanted to see that smile of hers, just one more time.

The need for it was so strong that he couldn't handle it anymore. Tears came rolling down his face, dripping onto the ground beneath him as he clutched his hair in a fist. He couldn't save her. He had been so close to saving her but he couldn't do it. And now she was here, buried under six feet of dirt and he was alive. It should be the other way, he should be dead! Give Sharon back her life, trade it for his because he was something terrible and Sharon was something beautiful and she deserved to live. Not him. No, never him. Never ever ever.

All at once, the idea of forming another contract flooded his mind. Surely there would be a way to do it, to exchange his life for Sharon's. Would Alyss do that? Could he do it? He would be dead before long anyway, could he change the past and make it work this time? Who cared if he needed to kill another thousand people, he would do it if only it could bring Sharon's smile back for a moment.

The thought only made his sobs deeper. He was pathetic. So very pathetic to even think about such a thing. Stupid, so stupid, stupid stupid stupid. He yelled out in frustration of his own thoughts, his own disgusting mind, before collapsing to the ground in a fit of broken cries. Curling up into something like a ball, he cried. Cried for himself, for Sharon, for every selfish need he had for her to be there, for every time he had failed her. Cried because he was alive and she wasn't, because when it mattered the most he had let her down. This was his fault, _he did this_. No amount of punishment could make up for this. No pain or death or torture could ever compare to his failures. Sharon needed him, she was the only one who did. The only one who would bother with a stupid fool like himself, the only one who thought he was something special and now she was gone. And with her, so was he.

With her death, he was never going to be alive again. He had died the day she had.

Why he ever thought coming out here was a good idea, he didn't know. It's not like he could see her again or touch her. Being this close to her and yet so unbelievably far away was more painful than it was relieving, and even if he had the courage to say something, she wouldn't be able to hear it. He didn't believe in the concept of heaven, but if anyone was to be sent there, it would have been her. Imagining Sharon as an angel or one of those saints that they made statues out of was a thought that almost make him grin. Almost, but that only ended up bringing more tears to his eyes.

Once upon a time, he had found himself in a new world and had cried the same way. At that point, he didn't believe he would ever smile again. Because of the kindness of the Rainsworths, he had. He had smiled and laughed and lived, but not anymore. He had died once and had been brought back to life, once was more than enough for him. There was no coming back now. No, because there was no Sharon or Shelly, there was no one. No one to make him smile, to love him. He was alone and it was terrifying.

In that moment, through the sobs and the tears, he knew that he was never going to feel again. For the rest of his life, however long that might be, he would never laugh or joke around; he simply couldn't. After today, he would wash his face of any signs of crying, and that would be it. Sharon was dead, he was dead, and he was never going to feel anything again. Not love or happiness or sadness or pain, nothing. He had died the same day Sharon had. He was empty, he was dead, he was nothing.

Wiping the tears from his face, he stood. Suppress the pain. Suppress the emotions and the heartache and the feelings; get rid of everything. Everything until there was nothing left. And there wasn't. For the rest of this living death they called life, he would be nothing. He was already buried in the ground, now all he needed to do was die, and he knew just how to do it.

Break looked up at the sky. At the manor and the gardens and Sharon's grave, and felt nothing.


End file.
